Pinning The King's Queen
by theywillneverknow
Summary: One-shot Ginny/Draco mentions of Ginny/Harry . Ginny never knows how it starts but she always knows how it will finish. 'He makes her feel weak and powerful all at the same time but, most of all, he makes her feel like a woman.'


Title: Pinning The King's Queen  
Author: **firstflier**  
Pairing: Ginny/Draco (mentions of Ginny/Harry)**  
**Rating/Warnings: nc-17, scenes of a sexual nature, curse words**  
**Summary: Written for week 1 prompt 'infidelity'. Ginny never knows how it starts but she always knows how it will finish.  
_'He makes her feel weak and powerful all at the same time but, most of all, he makes her feel like a woman.'__  
_Author's notes: Very different to anything I've written before so BEWARE. Originally written for **hp_smutday** with the prompt being 'infidelity'. This is a first attempt at Ginny/Draco and also a first attempt at smut. Who said old dogs couldn't learn new tricks, 'eh? Remember; the square root of comments is rainbow. Massive thanks to **snarkysweetness** for being my awesome beta.

Pinning The King's Queen

This isn't the first time, but she has no idea how she arrived at his door.

She likes to think Harry has forced her to come here. Forced her into revealing the final, fatal hand of cards that will end this foolish game in nothing but disaster.

It's raining and her shirt is ruined. She will blame him for that as well.

She cannot remember what they fought about; she increasingly finds that she doesn't care. They have not spoken for 3 days; she is stubborn and he is wrong. She remembers that, at first, there had been screaming and insults and she had tingled with energy. The magic pounding through her veins had been on fire and she could taste wordless incantations on her tongue as her eyes spat flames. Then he had called her name in that voice of his –_Ginny, Ginny love_ – and the power had gone.

They are not _that_ couple.

They do not do the big fights and the storm offs and the passion and, _God_, isn't she just grateful to have him in her fucking life? Isn't that what everyone thinks? That she should be honoured that The Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, has chosen to love her out of the millions of others that would have gladly swooned into his hero's embrace. She supposes, in the beginning, she was. She was that girl that fluttered her eyelashes a little too hard when he walked past, the girl that sighed forlornly as he passed her in the corridor without glancing at her twice, and the girl that blushed if he got within ten feet of her.

But she isn't that woman.

At 23 she is harder, stronger and fiercer. Molly Weasley's only little girl wasn't there anymore. She doesn't feel the loss. She just feels the gain of something new. Someone who demands respect and attention and who, despite what people might think, isn't _grateful_ that Harry Potter picked her from the line up. She shouldn't have to feel beneath him or that everything she does will never be good enough; that it will never outshine what he has already done. He says he isn't her rival, he's her team mate and she knows there shouldn't be a competition between them.

So she finds herself vaguely wondering why it always feels like one.

Like everything that she does is petty and pales in comparison to the man who killed the Dark Lord. Maybe it was, maybe that is what started the fight; her petty jealousy. All she knows is that she deserves more than that. She deserves more than being treated like a petulant child. She deserves someone who will be genuinely proud of her when she comes home from work and gabbles on about some new project instead of feigning interest with that condescending smile.

And she finds herself standing in front of his door like he's going to save her or some other romantic shit that Luna prattles on about. Her eyes take in the door, imposing in its grandness, and she wonders whether she is doing the right thing. Before she can interrogate her morals further, Ginny raises her fist and bangs loudly on the door thinking that, perhaps, she didn't want to know the answers to the questions. Her sense of wrong and right seems fairly shallow these days and she is certain that whatever truths she uncovers would scare her into leaving and pretending like this never happened. Like this thought never crossed her mind.

It's too late to back out when the door opens in front of her.

There is a long moment of silence, she clears her throat and he raises an eyebrow.

"Can I come in?" She hates that her voice sounds so pathetic and hushed, a whisper so soft he could crush it in his fist.

His feral grin is the only answer she needs and she shoulders past him roughly and into the impressive foyer behind him. The door shuts with a quiet click but, to her ears, it sounds like the clanging metal door of a dungeon and she asks herself, not for the first time, what the fuck she is doing. She stares with interest at the puddle she is making on the shiny, marble floor and hugs her arms tighter around her frail body, like she could hold herself together if she just stood still long enough. It's his shoes in her vision that make her look up. He is standing close to her and he does not take her breath away. His face is as she remembers; angular, hard, cold. His eyes are the same; light, mocking. The tilt of his lips adds to her embarrassment and fear; he knows why she has come. She lifts her head a little higher, Gryffindor courage coursing through her blood as her pulse jumps wickedly. He knows why she is standing in his house and he isn't kicking her out.

This bodes well and dreadfully for her at the same time.

"Draco, I-"

"What, exactly, is it that you want, Weasley? You have about ten minutes before I throw you and your pitiful bundle of robes on the Knight Bus with instructions to take you back to your precious Potter."

He is going to make her say it. And though she knew this was coming (doesn't she always know?) she winces all the same. Her tongue traces the inside of her teeth and she watches his eyes follow the movement with thinly veiled impatience. She can feel her lower lip tremble before any words come out and she clamps her jaw shut before she loses any more of her dignity. He watches her internal struggle with barely concealed glee slipping past his facade of imperious indifference. His emotions have always been obvious to her, despite his deceivingly calm exterior. She stares at him defiantly and wills him not to continue in this battle of wits and just do what they both know they will end up doing regardless of whether she submits or not. His eyes darken with something akin to lust and she shivers. She's not sure whether her chills have come from standing in the rain or from the animalistic look he is directing at her. He makes her feel weak and powerful all at the same time but, most of all, he makes her feel like a _woman_.

"Say it, Weasley."

She shuts her eyes, unwilling to see the moment of victory in his eyes because, even if she and Harry aren't in competition, she and Malfoy definitely are.

"I need you." She utters the words like they have been ripped bodily from her soul. She is rewarded by the feeling of him stepping closer, looming over her as his warm breath hits the side of her neck. "I want you." She can feel him twisting one wet tendril of hair around his spider-like fingers and her breathing quickens. "Please." The magic word is spelled into the night air and something snaps. Suddenly his hands are grabbing her hips, sliding down to squeeze her buttocks as he hauls her against his burgeoning erection. Her eyes flutter open as her mouth gapes on a breathy gasp. His lips attack her throat with licks and sucks and bites that cause her to cry out because, even if Harry is gentle with her, Draco is not. Her hands paw at his robes trying, and failing, to reveal naked flesh to her prying eyes. With her only aware of the way his hips roll against hers, he drags her out of the entrance hall and into the first room he can reach. He kicks the door shut with the heel of his foot and she doesn't even flinch at the loud bang that echoes through the empty house. He backs her against the desk in the corner of the room and her hip burns as she collides with it. The wood digs at her back whilst Malfoy molests her violently at the front.

Her senses are on overload and she is struggling to breathe properly.

Finally, _finally_, he places his mouth on hers and she wants to know why this is the most she has felt in months. His lips and tongue and teeth are all deliciously present and she knows that her mouth will be bruised in a matter of minutes, can even taste the metallic rush of blood. Her hands thread through his platinum blonde hair, hot tears collecting under her closed eyelids as his hands reach for her breasts. The wet shirt is clinging to her like a second skin and he finds her nipples already achingly tender as he rolls and pulls without thought to the pressure he applies. Her pulse is singing, heart is thumping and her body is throbbing. He pushes her onto the desk and she sits with her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts against her, looking for some friction to relieve the ache for them both.

She clings to him as he goes back to biting her neck and she goes back to issuing breathy gasps and moans when he hits some spot that Harry will never find. Her nails are sharp and she runs them over his scalp in anger at herself and him and Harry and everything that has lead her to this point; sitting on a desk in Malfoy's manor about to get screwed by one of her fiancé's worst enemies. She feels like she is falling (maybe they all are). He snarls; a guttural, rumbling groan in his throat as he peels off her top and flings it over his shoulder with careless disregard. She doesn't have time to register the cold air hitting her skin before he is forcing his hand past the waistband of her smart, sensible work trousers and past her naughty, 'shouldn't-be-wearing-these-to-work-but-hell-it's-hot-as-fuck-and-I'll-do-what-I-want' panties, brushes past the downy hair and works two fingers into her soaking sex as she thrusts wantonly against his hand. It's too much and not enough at the same time. The dizziness hits her in a wave of agonising desire.

The pain and the pleasure has her mewling and she knows she should be horrified by the noise, should be horrified by the look of victory plastered over his smug face but all she can do is writhe about on the table reaching for something that she wants desperately but can't quite touch. His free hand pulls a breast free of her bra and his mouth lowers to mark her over her heart. He sucks her nipple into his mouth and the suction is driving her mad and she wants to just rip her hair out because she is so close, _so close_. His knuckle grazes against her clit and she bucks wildly, a myriad of colours shooting in the blackness of her mind. Almost sobbing with relief, her body dissolves into boneless and she struggles to remain seated on the table. Her breath is loud in the silence that follows and he allows her half a minute to compose herself in which, she realises later, he has removed his robe and stands in just his trousers. Before she has fully come down from her high his hands are grabbing her thighs roughly (for there are no gentle caresses in this house) and turning her over.

Ginny moves effortlessly, still heavy from her release, but is wakened from her orgasm induced haze when he pushes her face against the solid wood of the table.

"Wha-What are yo-?"

Her question remains unfinished because he is tugging, desperately, at her trousers now; rolling them down her thighs enough so that he can see her knickers. She hears him hiss and then the zipper of his trousers makes a threatening, angry buzz in the silence. She gulps and her nipples are hard and pressing into the wood of the table and her arousal hits her full force. Here she is, bending over a table in the most vulnerable way imaginable, and she's waiting with bated breath for his next move.

"Say it, Weasley."

His voice is harsh, low and so utterly dangerous that she almost comes from the sound of it alone. The hand he was using to push her down over the table wraps around a chunk of her hair and pulls. It's not hard enough to make her scream, but it's not altogether comfortable either and she whimpers as she feels her arousal mark a trail down her inner thigh. She knows he's seen it when he rubs the head of his cock against her swollen clit and she almost swallows her tongue. She has never wanted sex as badly as she wants it now. Her hands are claws that are clinging, with everything she has left, to the edge of the table and to her sanity. In a position that Harry would never let her adopt because it isn't respectful, she just wants Malfoy to fuck her brains out already but that damn Gryffindor pride won't let her tongue wrap around that one syllable.

"No."

Her voice is thick with an emotion she doesn't want to name; it feels a lot like desperation and she's drowning in it. There is a sharp sting on her backside and she cries out in pain but it sounds more like a moan of pleasure to her ears.

"Weasley..." There is a warning tone to his voice and she wants to know how he always manages to stay in control of the situation like this. He licks up her spine, her neck and reaches the shell of her ear. She shudders with unrepressed desire and it is the feel of his hot, wet mouth against her ear as he all but breathes _'Ginny'_ that makes her gasp out the words he wants to hear.

"_Please!_ Just fuck me, please, Draco!" She is nearly sobbing with need but it is all the encouragement he needs. The words have barely left her mouth before he is tearing away her temptress underwear and finishing with his cock what his fingers started.

The feel of him, powerful and callous and pounding into her body from behind her, is a sensation that makes her see stars behind her eyes. He grunts and she sighs and the sound of skin slapping against skin is almost more than she can take. She gasps for air, sucking it harshly into her lungs. This is wrong but it feels so good, or maybe so achingly bad, that she almost can't believe it's real. Empty noises and sounds that are harsh in her ears, ragged and sharp in the silence, hang heavily in the air, only to fall and shatter on the ground. It is not love and it is not gentle and it is not what every good girl dreams about but, as Malfoy collapses heavily on her back, sweaty and hot and so completely spent, she knows it is exactly what she needed.

They get dressed in silence, like always, and he stands with a look on his face that speaks mildly of disgust but mostly of awe.

Something like guilt flickers across her face before something like pride rushes in and smothers it. The raise of his eyebrow has her hot all over again.

They are crackling and electric. Everything that her and Harry never were.

They walk to the door, Ginny clutching a heavy cloak that he has forced her to borrow. He says it is so she can pull the hood up and avoid being seen by any of the neighbours, but she knows it is because her clothes are still wet and it's still raining outside. (He can be chivalrous and gentlemanly sometimes.) He cares whether she gets sick and that bothers him so she accepts the gift with an eye roll and a spiteful glare. She pretends not to notice the way he holds the door open for her when she leaves the room. A room that once smelt of books, learning and knowledge but now smells of sin, sex and debauchery. The silence between them is welcome and she is not sure when they decided to have this unspoken agreement that this is their dirty secret they shall take to the grave but, somewhere along the line, they both understand; it is his lover's embrace that she covets and nothing more.

It started as a moment of weakness.

But she had, irrationally, stayed in that embrace for a moment too long and now it is something that neither can stop.

They don't do the long walks in the park, the talking beside a fire, the holding hands whilst eating dinner at a fancy restaurant.

They are not_ that_ couple.

_&&Fin._


End file.
